Loving Work
by Vykya
Summary: JK, AU where Jessie has to interview people for a job in Grace’s company including a certain Miss Singer.
1. Chapter 1

**Loving Work**

Author: That would be me, Vykya.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: AU where Jessie has to interview people for a job in Grace's company including a certain Miss Singer. (As both Jessie and Katie are in it, I assume you know what to expect.)

Disclaimer: They do not belong to me (except for Jason and Simone, for now).

Reviews: I'd like that. Feel free to comment (both positive and things I should improve).

**Chapter 1**

Jessie felt awkward sitting behind the large reception desk. She would have been much more at ease in her own office but she had decided – and was now starting to regret it – to observe the job applicants before they would actually start the interview. There was a lot she could learn from them – especially if they didn't think they'd be watched. But now she felt awfully small in this large reception area that was beautifully decorated with a comfortable sitting area with modern abstract paintings that in her opinion betrayed a rather disturbing obsession for blood (what else could those large smears of red paint mean – or perhaps the painting wasn't supposed to mean anything, maybe she was just trying to look for too much explanation.) Anyway the only real reason the paintings were there was because Grace had liked them – she really has no taste whatsoever. She had smiled politely and said that that was a great idea – then regretted the word 'great' for making the lie too obvious but Grace hadn't noticed too relished in the celebration of her hideous taste. Ok, that sort of makes it look like I don't like her, which isn't quite true. I do like her, it's just that sometimes she can get a bit too much and all I really want is to run away, so I can breath. Does that make me a bad person? Well, it is only rarely. It is getting better … in the beginning we didn't get along at all. You see, Grace is my stepsister, so we know each other for almost ten years now. But we get along better now then we used to when we were still living in the same house (with my dad and her mom and her sister). At least I think we get along better now. We're mature now and well she did ask me to become the company's psychologist – so she'd probably like me back, I think. Right, that reminds me why I'm here. She is looking for someone who can lure investors to – well invest in I presume – the company and now it is up to me to find the best person for the job. And that is why I have left the safe and familiar surroundings of my office – I am not the most outgoing person on this planet, I know – and am now pretending to be the desk officer waiting for the first applicant for the position. God, I hope the phone doesn't ring. I'm not good at answering phones. But before I could be tortured by the non-ringing phone – it is strange what mind tricks you can play upon yourself – I hear the distinct sound of the elevator bell. And as Pavlov's dog my eyes jumped to the elevator doors. However without drooling – but with a heartbeat quite above my normal rate – I watched the doors slid open.

A man with black hair – gelled in small spikes – and a cappuccino coloured suite strode confidently out of the elevator. He walked – or more like strode – towards the desk I was sitting behind, not too fast that he would seem in a hurry and not too slow as if nervous. He walked like he knew he was getting the job. He actually managed to walk through the reception like he belonged there, like he had been coming here for years – I _did _come her for years but I still felt small in this room. He threw a plastic smile at me – the one that you see on carnival masks, which I personally think so creepy that I wanted to scratch it off his face (which I'm not allowed to). The smile probably worked wonders on blond bimbo's, – although blond, I am not a bimbo – so I assume he wouldn't have looked further than my hair colour and missed my psychological well developed mind inside – for which I can hardly blame him since after all I am the psychologist and he doesn't need a degree in that area for the job. However I didn't like him. That's a lie. I couldn't stand him, is closer to the truth or better even I loathed him. I would have put him in his place, where he not so intimidating (and as said before I am not the most socially eloquent person) – then again hadn't he been so intimidating I would probably not found the need to put him in his place. So I did nothing but stare at his fake smile – which he seemed to enjoy. He seemed the person who like to make heads turn – I do not, but you probably got that by now. 'Hey,' he said in what I could only assume was his "picking up" voice. It made me feel ice-cold fingers brushing up and down my spine. He winked – presumably expecting me to go week in the knees right now, but I did not. He didn't bother to check … wait that sounds like … ehw, I meant he assumed I did, not expecting me to be able to resist … well _him _I suppose. 'I'm here for an interview.' It sounded like something trivial. With a confident voice he continued: 'The name is James Holden.' He did the awfull wink-thing again. If he would do that another time I would most likely empty my stomach content in the bin … or maybe on his shoes … yeah, that would be a good idea. I couldn't see his shoes right now – the desk was so high I couldn't see anything below his heart – that's assuming he has one, which I'm still rather indecisive about – but I'm pretty sure the shoes would be shiny – not polished especially for this occasion but polished because he wouldn't – even couldn't – leave his house without first polishing his shoes. He was looking up now – I'm sure he had already forgotten all about me – and was staring in the large mirror that was hanging behind me on the wall. I know, what possible reason could there be for placing a mirror on the wall behind the reception desk? Anyway there was one and he was admiring his own reflection in it. He brushed over his gel-styled hair – of which we both knew that it was lying perfectly fine – and admired it like it was now so much better when in fact not a single hair had been altered. He shook his sleeve for a moment and a golden – or what had you expected – rolex watch slid down to his wrist. I had the distinct feeling he _knew_ he was five minutes early for the interview and was just showing off his watch, but when he looked back from it as if it had shown him the meaning of life, I decided to let it go. I normally would have told him to wait in the waiting area (hence the name) for longer than technically needed so he would sweat a little before I would tackle him but I had the feeling that keeping him there would only make me more nervous for the interview and would do little to make him sweat. He didn't look like he sweat, it seemed like something unnatural for him. He was too controlled to sweat or to be nervous … or perhaps it would be a too natural response for a guy completely constructed out of plastic. Ok, Jessie, calm down, we haven't interviewed him yet and you're already going nuclear on his personality. Let's be professional, let's just see if he has the right skills for the job. 'I'll take you to miss Sammler's office.' It seemed to take him by surprise. Yeay! It only lasted so short that I thought that I had imagined but since I could not imagine him surprised, I assumed that he had in fact been taken aback.

When I entered my own office and more confidently than before walked to my own desk and sat down, I expected his surprised face to utter 'naughty!' but he disappointed me and remained silent.

'I take it you are Miss Sammler.'

'I am Miss Sammler.' I answered a little superfluous, I know, but what else was I going to say? It _is _my name.

'Nice trick.' He changed his posture a little although I could not say how exactly. He made me feel like now I had been finally found … worthy of talking to him. I wasn't sure that made me feel happy or more scared.

'Not a trick. You just assumed too much.' I was glad my voice resembled the coldness of winter but without explicitly being hostile. I was indifferent, like I hadn't and never was going to form an opinion of him. Needless to say, I was quite proud of myself.

'You're right. I assumed too much.' It should have sounded like admitting defeat but somehow it didn't.

'So Mr. Holden'

'Jason, please.' Of course the schmuck bastard would insist on first name basis. Professional, Jessie, try to stay professional! I felt the desire to bury my nails in the arm cushions of my chair but instead I took a deep breath and asked my question.

'So _Mr. Holden_ why should we consider you for the job?' He ignored the denial of his request and answered the question instantly.

'I'm a people person.' He opened his arms – as if he was Jesus asking the children to come to him – and laughed a fake plastic laugh. He didn't strike me as the person who would prepare his answers on cue cards at home, but if he did, I'm sure it would have said 'laugh here.' 'I like to talk to people, get to know them, help them, bring them in contact with others.' I would have added a lot of 'I pretend to' to that sentence. 'It is what I love to do.' It was followed by another smile. That's all very _nice_ (beware: irony) but what about _us_. He seemed to have read my mind for he continued: 'And that is where I think that I can help you.' I was half expecting him to point at me like the guy with the hat in the colours of the American flag. He did not. Instead he settled for grinning plasticly. 'I'll make them invest in your company.' Strangely I believed him. He elaborated: 'I was thinking about hosting a reception maybe about something new…' It looked like he was coming up with the idea just this minute but I think it only _looked _that way. He started describing this reception thing (which to me was starting to sound more like a gala with every detail he brought up). He was really getting into it, and it suited him. I could actually see him putting together what he was describing. Grace would adore it – but then again she had a very weird taste.

A half hour later – one that I would have liked to have back – the interview was over. I came to the conclusion that Mr. Holden was an arrogant schmuck bastard who I would prefer never to encounter again but as such … perfect for the job. I repressed the urge to kick him (literally) out of my office and for some reason …vacuum my office. Instead – as my job required – I escorted him out and led him back to the reception where Simone (the real receptionist) had reclaimed her desk. Naturally our "Mr. People Person" couldn't suppress the urge to walk over to say 'hi.' I had believed him on his word, I really did not need a live demonstration. But he seemed to insist, for – if I remembered correctly – he couldn't _help_ but talk to anyone he came along. He told Simone the apparently funny anecdote where I was her and he was – unfortunately still – himself. I felt left out as Simone and he shared a laughter. Simone joined him in the conversation and I was thoroughly surprised she could talk about anything else than the lack of sexual interest her husband took in her, which for some reason she thought I could help her with. Once you had a degree in psychology people seemed to expect you to know something about the strangest things. Besides even if I knew something more than average on marriage counselling I would have to talk to both of them anyway. See, I'm doing it again. I'm going along with it, whilst instead I should tell her to fuck off and stop whining about it when she actually _has _someone to sleep with in the first place. But I'm a too nice person to say that. So instead I just stand there – pretending to be one of the plants which decorate the reception – and listen to the faux flirtations of the two whilst feeling more alone than I ever have been. I want to run back to my office but I never seem to be able to do something that is impolite – even if I want to. After another five painful minutes – I know, because I have watched the full five tours of the seconds hand on the clock above the mirror behind Simone – he finally left. Before the doors of the elevator had even closed Simone was already asking me whether we most certainly were going to employ him. My sigh was the only answer she got as a retreated back towards my office.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author: Strangely still me. (Who has been so kind as to give you a second chapter as well)**

**Disclaimer: They do not belong to me (except for Jason Holden and Simone).**

**Reviews: I'd like that. Feel free to comment (both positive and things I should improve).**

**Chapter 2**

It was the next day, but still the same desk at the reception. Candidate number two had phoned earlier today that he had already found another job and was not going to come. Unfortunately there was still applicant number three, so here Jessie was once again waiting. Her fingers tapped on the desk. I hope it isn't going to be a second Mr. Holden. I'm not sure I can survive that another time. The clock behind her ticked away on the pace of her fingers – or was it the other way round? – and minute-hand was currently fondling the number one which meant that someone was running late. Jessie was growing impatient now. She usually was calm and controlled but now she kept rolling her chair back and forth – why _did _they put wheels under it? She nearly jumped out of her seat and over the desk when she heard something ring. Her glaze was firmly fixed on the elevator doors but when they didn't open, she could hear one of her co-workers talk on the phone and realised it had been a phone that had rung. Just when she had cast her eyes back down, she heard a familiar bell-sound. She didn't dare to look up – lest she be mistaken once more. Strangely exited like a little girl the night before Christmas, she looked up.

This beautiful girl – no not "beautiful" for beautiful means something that should be displayed and cannot be touched while this girl – well woman I suppose – this woman begged to be touched. She was _hot_, no other term could describe the way she stood there sucking up my attention and all I wanted to do was rush over and touch her, touch her dirty blond hair, her sexy body and the prettiest face I had ever behold … but that would have been a tad unprofessional. And then she turned her head – she had been looking at the elevator buttons – and looked at me and it _felt_ like I was thrown back by a powerful storm gale in which she flew at me with a velocity that beat light and pressed my body against the mirror with hers, brushed her soft and nimble fingers against my forehead where they caught a disobedient lock of hair and put it back where it belonged, this all whilst looking deeply through my eyes into the very depth of my soul. In short: I had trouble breathing. At least that was what it felt like. Then she stepped out of the elevator.

Like a young deer she dallied over to the desk I was sitting at. It didn't exactly _help_ my breathing issues. She almost made it. But she didn't, instead she got tackled by the last plant before my desk – stupid plant! How dare you touch one so hot as this woman with your unworthy branches. Needless to say I made plans to remove this plant from this office before the end of this day. Although, the plant had _touched _her! Lucky plant, way too lucky plant! Anyway while I was rambling on in my head she was lying on the floor. Suddenly I found myself hanging with my stomach on the desk and my feet dangling of the ground to see if she was alright. I have no idea how I got there. Honestly.

'Are you alright?' I must admit that me dangling on the lobby-desk was not the kind of first impression I wanted to give but I was already very glad that I had managed to come up with a sentence that actually existed in the English language and not some gibberish. She answered something back but I was too intoxicated with the sound of her voice that I gave no second thought whatsoever about listening to the context. I slightly regretted that now, but her voice had been way too beautiful to feel genuinely guilty. Maybe I could ask her to repeat what she had said but I would probably again forget to listen once she started speaking. But I gave it a shot anyway. It was always good to hear that voice. As she spoke again I felt like being wrapped in a soft cocoon of pure pleasure and surprisingly I actually understood her this time.

'Way to go, Singer!' At least I thought I did, for I had no idea who was going to sing – there were only two people in the room and well… I could sing (at least that is what people tell me) but she couldn't possibly know that. She flashed me a smile and I sort of … melted. Surprisingly I did not fell of the desk. I was very proud of that.

'I'm Katie.' She said (well obviously she said it, since I am not Katie). I liked the name, it suited her.

'I'm Jessie.' I said. (But you could have guessed that that was me, I suppose.)

'Nice to meet you, I'm here for an interview.' Nice to meet you to! I was about to ask her 'what interview?' but then I remembered. Right, I have to interview her. I have to be professional (that means, NOT dangling on reception desks).

'Oh…kay.' Nice one, Jessie, very professional! She chuckled and once again I was finding it very hard to remain professional. As elegantly as I could – which isn't very elegantly – I dragged myself of the desk and gave her the directions to my office. When she left I turned round and whilst staring in the mirror I tried to recompose myself. Be professional Jessie. Ask the questions you have in your head, try to listen to the answers NOT her voice … that beautiful voice … NO professional, professional!

'I can do this.' I said to my reflection but neither of us seemed to believe it.

'I've knocked but there doesn't seem to be anyone there.' She said when I arrived at my office.

'I know.' I could see her lips starting to form a question but she decided against it. I know that at that point I should have stopped staring at her lips. With a momentous amount of willpower I managed to turn my head to the door and led her into my office.

'It's empty.' She stated superfluous.

'No, Miss Sammler is here.' I dared not look whether her lips would come up with questions.

'You …'re Miss Sammler.' It came out a little hesitantly but she had figured it out. Smart, I liked that – although I wasn't sure it was the job-interviewer in me who liked it. 'Oh God.' This time I couldn't help but look. I could just see her eyes go big before her hand tried to push the words her beautiful lips – stop staring at her lips Jessie! – had let slip. In vain. She seemed embarrassed. Why? Oh right, the little wrestling-match with the plant; I had already forgotten about that. She looked cute when she was embarrassed. That's not professional, Jessie!

'You were late.' I said colder than I wanted. It was professional but I didn't want to be _that _professional.

She composed herself. 'Was I?' My eyebrows rose but she didn't notice, she had been talking more to herself than to me. 'I'm always late. For my doing I'm probably here early.' Then it seemed to hit her how that sounded. 'I talk too much.' And she looked down. In fact she looked like she was studying my feet (well my sneakers, since she couldn't see my actual feet). I decided upon a different approach.

'Why should we take you for the job?' She must have decided to look me in the eyes once again but somewhere down the line she got cold feet and by the time I had finished the question her eyes were burning holes in my shirt – I think you know where exactly. I had no idea whether she had even heard the question. And I myself was rather liking it to a degree that compromised my professionalism.

'I like it.' I was not sure she was talking about the job – or even that she was aware that she had said something – but my professionalism obliged me to do so. Any thought about her possibly liking me, I regretfully pushed aside for other times.

'Have you got any experience with making investment deals?' I asked her after another minute silence.

'Experience?'

'With financial investment' I added rapidly before I got to know other things – I was kind of interested in but would compromise the last strings of professionalism I was hanging on to.

'I had a dog once.' Ok, not sure how that is relevant, but glad she knew I asked a question. 'When I was little.' She clarified like that suddenly made the whole thing relevant. 'And I had learned him some tricks and then we went to the park and I let him do the tricks and by-passers would give money, which I kept in this white plastic cup, the sort beggars use but of course they don't sell them in stores with a tag saying 'beggars cups' 'cause, really they are for parties to put lemonade in to them or beer, I suppose, if you want to drink beer but not let other people find out that you are drinking beer.' Then she looked up with this crazily proud face that I couldn't possible tell her that that had been nowhere near relevant. I think that would have broken her hart – and possibly mine as well. She looked like a puppy. She would make such an adorable puppy. I sighed. Focus Jessie!

'So, do you have a lot of experience in organising parties and events?' There _was _a slight relevance based on the plastic cups she seemed to adore talking about.

'Oh yeah, in college we had like parties all the time, this one time I was so completely drunk that I threw up in a wardrobe and then fell asleep in it. I know, that was so gross. I don't remember how many showers I took after that.'

I sighed, this was going just great.

The interview was over and in a way I was happy about it because it hadn't been great, more to the point of awful and awkward. I had never had in interview quite like it. She gave very bad answers and that was only when you could count the answer relevant enough in the first place and she couldn't seem to help it to get sidetracked on these anecdotes that I was actually starting to like so much that I had to restrain myself from begging her for more. I wanted to know everything there was to know about this girl and more, oh yeah, definitely more. But I had to remain professional. Even if I didn't really wanted that and that was why I also regretted the interview to be over; as awful and awkward as it had been, I couldn't seem to say goodbye to this woman. I didn't want to. I want to keep her close to me for every second of my life (but that was probably me being silly.)

And so we were awkwardly standing in the lobby once again. Simone was fervently trying to get my attention, but I denied it her and gave it instead to the dirty blonde standing in front of me (who was looking everywhere but at me, for some reason). She pointed at the paintings on the wall: 'Is that what happened to the other applicants?' I laughed – not out of politeness but simply because I couldn't help it. I once read in a course that some psychologist think that laughing is surrendering yourself to the person who makes the joke and until know I was rather sceptical but at that point I surrendered myself to her: completely, no reservations, no fear, no hesitation, no second guessing, just pure and beautiful surrendering. Now she did look at me. 'You don't really show mercy, now do you.' I think she was still talking about the paintings but it didn't matter what she said. I couldn't help but laugh and she joined in. And we laughed together and my soul felt like warm for the first time. And where I had felt lonely yesterday, today I felt like I could never be lonely again.

'I actually like them.' Leave it to Simone to ruin a perfectly good moment! Katie looked a little embarrassed at me and I couldn't help but giggle very softly – I know, not very professional of me – which she heard. She glared into my eyes and we both burst out in laughter simultaneously. With an almost straight face she spoke: 'Well, Miss Sammler' (I loved the … wait not 'loved,' surely not 'loved' …liked, yes 'liked,' … I liked the way she pronounced it, she made it sound magical) 'thank you for seeing me.'

'Well, you were very see-worthy.' Ok, what was that, Jessie? Oh my god, did you just flirted with her? Tell me, you didn't.

She raised her eyebrows quizzically (I would have done the same in her case, hell, I was probably raising my eyebrows too at my weird comment) and extended her hand. I grabbed it and it felt so soft and smooth … and poemworthy – _poemworthy? _get a grip Jessica Sammler! Apparently I had run out of my professionalism. I refused to let her hand go – childish, I know, but I didn't want to give it up. She took her other hand and softly opened my hand to liberate her own. Then she walked away. I couldn't move, her touch had petrified me. 'Bye,' my Medusa whispered soundlessly. And I said it back before I had even realised it – it seemed my body was talking to her all on its own.

When the elevator doors had closed – I still hadn't moved – Simone spoke: 'You're certainly not going to employ her, are you!' And just like the day before I sighed – only this time I had no idea what the sigh meant.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Ten.**

'So, have you found me a new employee?' Grace asked me. We were sitting in a restaurant and had barely gotten our drinks. This was – as you could imagine by the previous question – a business diner. Leave it up to Grace to not manage to chitchat with your sister at least until the starters. Then again Grace's not so innocent poking at my non-existent love life was about as pleasant as it sounded. It was however better than the time she had actually started pointing women out to me at other tables (which I needed to mark on a scale to ten – I know! unfortunately Grace doesn't –) to get – and I quote – 'a _feel_ for my taste'. It had taken a lot of disturbing looks from both waiters, the women and whomever they were dining with to get her to stop pointing. She still occasionally did that (luckily without the pointing). A woman would pass by and she would go: 'So, Jessie what would you think, a seven?' Most people would stop doing that when I turn red. Grace isn't one of them, unfortunately. Anyway, here we were having dinner – a business diner as Grace likes to point out once every while (although we both know that it isn't purely business that brings us together, for I'm sure Grace doesn't consider it her _job _to incisively taunt me with my being gay – which I expect doesn't come as an awful shock to you after the last chapter) – so we can catch up on how everything is and how our lives are. The answers are 'fine' – what else are you going to say to such a question? – and 'non-existent' – Grace is too busy with work and I am not the most outgoing person.

'Well the list has been reduced to two.'

'Oow, exiting!' I have no idea how Grace runs her company, absolutely no idea, but I certainly hope not like _that_. I did my very best to forget what she had just said. Let's, for once, try not to have the whole restaurant stare at us, Grace. 'Come on, tell me.'

'One of them is an arrogant, shmuck bastard, whom I think you'd like.' She tilted her head and gave me the look that I had seen countless times over the course of our _friendship_…well bond.

'Very funny, Jess.' Actually I was telling the truth, but Grace doesn't always get it when I joke and when not.

'Anyway, the thing is that I don't like him' (putting it mildly there) 'but I think you will get along with him just fine and I think he'd do the job very well. Very social and talk-y.' Unlike me apparently. 'He seems like someone who'll fit right in with boring rich men and would manage them to open their check books without all too much protest.'

'That sounds like somebody who's going to be hard to beat. But that doesn't mean that I'm not curious about number two.'

What was I going to say now? 'Well…she didn't have such a great interview but I do think she has skills…' What skills are you thinking about, Jessie? Please don't ask me to elaborate Grace.

'Like?' Thank you Grace! It was suddenly getting very warm in here. Didn't this place have air-co? They really should. 'Well…she has this great smile that could certainly win investors over.' Hmm, that sounded better in my head, less like _that_.

Grace chuckled and stared at me more intrigued than she normally does. 'A smile?' Her eyes were sparkling with mischief. 'Well I can see how that would be a difficult choice: a competent gentleman with the right social skills or a girl with a _smile_.'

This is the point where I got red and as I said before …

'Well Jessie, it almost sounds like you l…'

'Don't say it, Grace!'

'…love her.' I said: 'don't say it'! So why do you have to say it? I perfectly got what you meant, so you didn't have to finish your sentence! If someone says 'don't say it' then don't say it, Grace. Don't you understand English? And what was really disturbing about it all, was that she might be right.

'So, do you know whether she likes women?' She was really amazing, Grace. I would like to know how she experiences 'feelings' the way she tends to plough over them.

'No, surprisingly that didn't come up during the interview.' I said as sarcastically as I could. Unfortunately Grace is better at that so I don't think I left a mark.

'She didn't give you any indication?' Now I was actually starting to long for a _pure _business dinner. Things had been getting uncomfortable very quickly and Grace didn't seem to have any intention towards stopping them. Unfortunately her question had me thinking about how she had been staring at my chest and I think I must have blushed (although my face must have been pretty red by now, so maybe I did something else) for she was gloating in triumph.

'I thought so.' I hoped she was right. Wait, did I really wanted that? Who was I kidding? I wanted that. I definitely wanted that.

And then – just like that – she dropped the subject. Grace is so strange. She went back to business-mode like nothing personal had been shared. 'Have you made a decision yet?' I, on the other hand, wasn't quite there yet. On my quizzical look she explained: 'About which of the two you are going to pick?'

Oh, I hadn't actually thought about that yet. I know that may seem strange but Katie … Miss Singer (or was it Ms Singer – I should look that up in her CV (please let it be 'Miss') – focus Jessie, focus – let's stay professional: so Miss Singer had only applied for the job this afternoon and after that I hadn't exactly been able to get much work done. Rather ashamed I recalled myself lying in my armchair daydreaming for the rest of the afternoon.

'Not yet. I'll let you know by the end of the week.' That still gave me three days. Good thinking, Jessie.

'It seems to me, you already made a decision.' Grace couldn't help but remark. Before she – as if she had said nothing at all – changed topic. 'Did I tell you that board wants to start a new office in London …'

We were standing on the parking of the restaurant, Grace talking and me freezing my but off. The rest of the dinner had been rather uneventful – for which I was more than grateful.

'So, I'll see you around and I'm looking forward to meeting your _girlfriend_.' Apparently I had celebrated too soon. I was in need for a fat lady singing. Urgently.

'You don't give up, do you.' I said, not being able to find the above mentioned fat lady.

'Just tell, me…what was she? A nine?'

'A ten.' I swear I do not rate girls. I really don't. You probably won't believe me but I truly don't. But when Grace – who apparently does – asked that question, it seemed the only answer that fitted. Yep, she was definitely a ten, and more. Definitively more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**[A/N: You might have to reread the last sentence of CH 3 to get the first sentence.**

In a restaurant not far away a certain 'ten' was taking the seat Tad hold back for her. I rolled my eyes. So Tad! I sat down but before he could sit down on his own chair, I jumped up from my place and held the chair back exactly as he had done for me. He gave me a "come on, Katie!"-look but I just raised my shoulders with a "I know" attached to them. When the both of us were finally sitting (Tad hadn't tried to repeat his little gallantry of before, or else I would have felt obliged to repeat mine as well) he smiled at me from across the table. I naturally smiled back. I'm always smiling. Well, of course not _always _…but usually. Ok, so maybe I just smiled a lot – let's leave it at that. Anyways, Tad was always fun company to hang out with. Even though sometimes he could be such a … well… guy, I suppose (you can hardly blame him for that, Singer!). He took one of the empty wine glasses on the table:

'Shall we toast on your new job?'

'Only with empty glasses.' (I probably should explain why Tad is goofy enough to start toasting with empty glasses in the first place. He said that _it_ rubbed off. I took that as a huge complement but come to think about it, it might not have been that nice a compliment, although in our weird relation that was so twisted enough (again my doing, he would say) it was definitively positive.)

'What do you mean?'

'I didn't get the job.'

'What? That's way too early to tell, you only applied for it today.'

'Trust me. I didn't get it.' He looked at me defiantly – which I wished he didn't.

'Come on, when has there ever been an occasion where Katie Singer couldn't possibly talk herself into whatever it was that she wanted?' He was right, you know. I had never applied for a job that I didn't get in the end. And in the love department (ok, who still uses that word? (Mental note to self: buy new dictionary)) I had gotten anyone I wanted (and even those who I didn't necessarily want) with ease. So, I suppose it was natural for Tad to say what he said, but he hadn't been there…

'That would be today.' He still wasn't believing me, I could see it in his eyes, but he wasn't going to be a thoughtless jerk about it – which I was very grateful for.

'What happened?'

'This interviewer…' I started but he interrupted me.

'Man or woman.'

'…woman.' I admitted hesitantly but he took the hesitation completely different than I had meant it.

'A woman? Whenever has there been a woman you couldn't sweet-talk? You usually get them in your bed whether they're gay or not. Hell, you even managed to talk _me_ into your bed.' It was true, about the women … and about Tad. We had slept together _once_ in high school – it had been the only time I had ever slept with a guy and for some weird reason Tad was very pleased about the fact that it had been him; it's must be a guy thing! – and Tad just likes to bring it up (although we were just friends now).

'What can I say … I have a promiscuous bed.' Tad burst out in laughter and I couldn't help myself but to laugh as I continued: 'It's not my fault, the bed seems insatiable for variety, it has never liked the same person for more than a couple of times.'

'So _that's_ why you change girlfriends on a weekly basis.'

'A _week_ly basis?' I threatened as a playfully picked up my glass to throw at him.

'Monthly then?' He suggested as he raised both of his hands in front of his face in a very un-manly way that begged for teasing. Unfortunately another part of my mind stepped in and started to portray a beautiful blonde girl with an angelic face sprayed out on my promiscuous bed – which all of a sudden started to look less and less promiscuous (the bed, that is, angelic girls do not tend as a rule look promiscuous). And that sort of took the sting out of my teasing. He had been right anyway. I hadn't been able to meet a girl who could captivate my attention for more than a couple of days.

'So what happened?' Tad had recomposed himself and looked once again manly – or whatever was supposed to pass for that with him.

This was rather humiliating … but I had to talk to someone. And Tad was my best friend … perhaps not the most suitable for revealing this huge amount of evidence he could tease me with but nonetheless trustworthy. 'I was late to start with.'

'You're always late. In fact you were late now.' I gave him a look.

'Lot's of people tend to be late. But they'll get used to it.'

'It was only five minutes…well maybe a little longer. But anyway I wasn't _that_ late.'

'Only five minutes, wauw, that's like early for your standards.'

'I know … but I probably shouldn't have said that.'

'You said that?' He was about to break out in laughter when he saw my face and decided against it. Thank you, Tad. He continued: 'Okay, that was maybe a little bit unprofessional but surely they're not going to hold it against you.'

'That was after I fell – ungraciously – on my face in the lobby.' He was looking at me in disbelief, in fact even I was finding this story rather incredulous, hadn't I been the one telling it. The story was very un-_me_-like – okay, Katie, stop inventing words. It was just from that moment that I saw that face, I knew that I was gone. All my attention had been focused on her – I could not not do it, she was like a black hole to me, sucking me up entirely. That was not a very nice metaphor… a very beautiful black hole?!? Not quite it, either. Truth is that from the moment I behold her, all sanity left me. I couldn't think straight.

'You fell?' I'm not sure I would already call it 'falling in love'… oh, he meant my encounter with the plant.

'She was just so beautiful.' Perhaps not the most conventional remark but even thinking about her was leaving me at a loss about what was normal and what was not. But I got that it was not normal from the way Tad was looking at me right now. O, how she had been breathtaking … until she disappeared – which had actually turned out to be me falling. 'I fell over some plants.' Jep, that sounded more normal. Tad still wasn't assured but he didn't question me.

'Could have happened to anyone.' Thank you Tad.

'She asked me if I was alright. And I knew I had to say something back and I did say something back but … it was all gibberish. There are like a _lot_ of words in the English dictionary but for some reason I couldn't find even one.'

There was a moment of silence before I continued. 'And that was all before the interview started.'

'Well, than you had time to recover and make a good impression.' Tad looked so hopefully at me that I so whished I could agree … but sadly I couldn't. 'The interview was even worse.'

'How can it be worse?' I whished I did not have an answer to this question, but I did.

'I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't focus. My mind was blank. Half of the time I had no idea whether she had asked a question or not. I mean, nobody was talking – I could tell that much – but why or what I needed to say to break that silence, I couldn't figure out. It's like when you have a boring lecture and you keep zoning out … only what she was saying wasn't boring – at least I think it wasn't, 'cause I'm not really sure I heard everything she was saying all the time, so I can't absolutely swear it wasn't. But she was so … no, it couldn't have been boring.' What was I trying to say, anyway?

'So you didn't talk _at all _during the interview?'

'No, of course not, you know me. Do you really think I could not talk for an hour … or well, _any _amount of time? So I did talk although I have no idea what I said. You know me.' My look begged understanding at this point. ' I always talk about a hundred different random things at the same time, so I can't possibly remember what I talk about.'

'Was any of it job-related?' Tad tried to put me back on goal.

I couldn't keep watching him and so whilst my eyes studied the monstrous chandelier behind Tad – it really was huge and definitely wonder-worthy (Okay, Katie, stop with the make-up words), I mean what was the point of this incredulous size of chandelier, come to think about it, what was even the point of a chandelier? – I hesitantly answered him: 'No.'

The waiter frowned at the battlefield that was left in my plate. The remainder of my lettuce, fries and steak were chaotically spread out over my plate, all bloodied by the meat.

'So, do you want to see her again?' Tad was apparently not as daft as he looked. We had talked about my – at this point obvious – liking of this girl, but I had the impression that this was his way of asking whether this girl was different. With any other girl this question would have been absurd to pose … but this girl, did I wanted to see her again? I hadn't really thought about it, honestly. I _had _thought about her – there was very little else I had been able to do since the interview – but would I want to see her again? There was no way I was going to get the job, so if I wanted to see her, I would have to shuffle the cards. It seemed a very stupid question. With any other girl, I would keep meeting her until I had her wrapped around my finger but this, this was different. I wasn't my normal confident, flattering, seducing self. I had not all the tools I was normally armed with. Now, I was as weak and unprotected as an unborn baby. And even more strangely I liked it, I liked how she nonchalantly swept my tools of the table and asked me who I really was. How my façade was not enough, how she demanded to see my soul. And part of me wanted to let her do that: let her see my soul. But that would make me vulnerable. And I do not like to be vulnerable. I had had my fare share of heartbreak but I wasn't sure I actually had ever really put my hart out there – fully, totally – with the possibility of it getting broken. It might have been hurt but I had the feeling that this girl could leave it devastated, like no one before or after her.


End file.
